Halen expels an extended breath. “It’s a talent.”

“One I respect.” Devyn picks up her bag, but then halts. She drops it to a boulder. “Look, I appreciate what you’re doing, spinning theories, trying to help. That’s why I pushed to have you here.” She touches her forehead briefly in thought. “But you should know, they are victims, Halen. They didn’t just leave, or join some cult. With no word for five years. My brother didn’t just decide to one day up and go, with no call, no future contact. He was taken. Someone took him. He wouldn’t hurt me that way. We were close…are close,” she corrects. “We’re twins. As close as two people can be. So, I know this.”

In a show of comfort, Halen touches Devyn’s arm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“I know. But that’s why I’m telling you now.” Devyn’s smile is tight, filled with the kind of resentful pain one tries to mask daily. “Now, I’m diving into the putridness of this scene. If I find anything important, I’ll let you know.”

As Halen watches Devyn walk off, she hugs her arms around her waist. “Oh, my god. I had no idea.”

“You couldn’t have.” Riddick moves into place beside Halen. “Dev keeps things close to the vest. She moved back here when Colter went missing, joined the department to help search for him. Even when the investigation stalled and all but became a cold case, she stayed on.”

Halen turns inquisitive eyes on the detective. “Has a match been made from the body parts to Devyn’s brother?”

Riddick shakes his head. “I don’t think so. But she won’t stop looking until she finds him alive.”

“Is there someone out there you’re looking for?” Halen asks.

“Me? No. I’m a lone wolf.” The charming smile he offers her torches my composure. He licks his lips in true predatory fashion. “But I could be looking elsewhere.”

Expertly dodging his advance, Halen swings her gaze to the remains of a deer and brings her camera up. “I still feel like an asshole. I should’ve been more sensitive.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” I speak up, my focus drilled on Halen. “Your theory is sound. When it comes to family, people are biased and willfully ignorant. They refuse to see the truth of just how dangerous their loved ones can be.”

Halen looks up at me through the thick fringe of her lashes, her camera held between us as if she could capture my image, and I realize I’ve said too much. Instead of masking my discomfort, I hold her insightful gaze, unflinching, letting the silence build into a crackling intensity. Then I reach out and depress her finger over the shutter button.

A sharp cry cracks against the walls of the ravine, slicing into the moment and turning all attention toward the other side of the gorge.

Riddick curses. “What is he doing here?” Without further explanation, he rushes to where a group is quickly forming.

“Oh, god. I think Detective Emmons just fell down the ravine.” Halen starts in that direction.

There’s a flurry of chaos as people crowd around to offer aid to the injured detective. Alister orders an ambulance to the nearest marsh entrance, then commands one of the local unis to wrap a ligature around his thigh. Riddick lifts Emmons’ head to brace it on his leg, placing the wide detective’s hat on his head.

Blood wells bright red from a gash above the detective’s kneecap. Emmons hollers in pain at the pressure, and I get a strong whiff of alcohol fuming off him.

“Christ, Emmons.” Riddick hands Emmons off to Devyn and snatches one of the First Aid kits from the supply setup. “Everyone, stand back. You can cancel the ambulance, Agent Alister. It’s just a flesh wound.”

I hang back near Halen as Devyn assists Riddick in handing him the necessary materials to disinfect and suture Emmons’ wound.

As the urgency of the situation diminishes and the site clears, Halen remains, her focus centered on Riddick. “You’re really good at that,” she says, watching him insert the needle and stitch with perfect precision.

When Emmons tries to bat him away, Devyn takes hold of his hand. “Luckily, he’s too drunk to feel much.”

“He feels plenty,” Halen mutters too low for anyone else to hear.

Riddick glances up at Halen. “I was a paramedic at one point. You learn to do a lot under pressure and in unfavorable conditions.”

Devyn releases a noticeable sigh. “Jake’s funeral was today,” she says, referring to Emmons’ brother. “He’s in bad shape.”

Halen caps the camera lens, then lowers her voice to speak to Devyn. “The body was released for burial?”

Devyn shakes her head. “No, but the family held a service anyway.” Her frown is tight. “They didn’t want to prolong it…any longer.”

Halen nods her understanding, then focuses once again on Riddick stitching the wound. “Why would Detective Emmons come here?”

The detective groans. “I’m right here dammit,” he says, speech slightly slurred. “And I’m not leaving.”

Devyn consoles him. “I would try to work the case,” she responds, a defensive edge to her words. “If it was my brother’s funeral.”

A dark cloud rolls across the sky to blot the meager rays of light, warning of a bad storm hovering on the horizon.

After Detective Emmons is pronounced intoxicated but in stable condition, Halen starts the climb to the top of the ravine. I trail behind her, reaching the barren grove as raindrops start to fall and lightly patter her equipment.

She checks her phone briefly before she begins packing away her tripod and gear.

I hand her the case, holding on to one end so she’s forced to look at me. “Did you know there are three species of the death’s-head hawkmoth.”

“Agent Hernandez is waiting at the entrance.” She yanks the tripod case from my hand. “I’m not getting caught in the downpour again.”

She goes to shrug the bag onto her shoulder, and I claim the strap to carry the gear for her.

As we start out of the muggy marsh, she says, “You leapt to the Harbinger because of the hemlock grove. Because Alister wants to link a connection there.”

“Yes.”

“It’s terrifying that I’m starting to understand your train of thought.” She peeks over at me with an arched eyebrow. “There was never any correlation determined amid the species, or the victims, for that matter.”

“Maybe not when you keep the case isolated,” I say, earning a glare from her. “Atropos, Lachesis, and Styx.” I recite the species as I wade through the marsh water beside her. “All from the Greek mythos. All associated with death.”

“No,” she says adamantly. “I’m not discussing the details of the Harbinger killer with you, Kallum.”

“Why? Is there something else you’d rather us do for the next twenty minutes.” I wade closer to her. “I’m always open to suggestions.”

Halen turns her gaze ahead.

Discussing the details means she’ll be forced to think about the victims, about her belief I’m the killer. About Wellington, and the memories she’s suppressing.

“I know you probably tried to include your knowledge in your profile,” I say, not trying to hide my deliberate baiting. “Where it was shot down, or ignored. No one else will understand the way I will, Halen. Pour your bleeding little profiler heart out to me.”

She shakes her head. “Atropos is one of the Fates. She was the Moirai who cut the threads of life, bringing death. Lachesis measured the threads. And Styx is the river of the dead.”

“But the genus Acherontia atropos was first derived—”

“From the Acheron river,” she says, halting to turn my way. “Which denotes the underworld. Yes, I know. Thank you, professor, but I’ve done my research. In essence, it’s not the labels of the Fates as to why the Acherontia moths are considered omens of death.”

Her heated, sultry gaze narrows on me, and I could eat her alive right now.

“Your extensive knowledge on the moth isn’t incriminating at all,” she intones with the perfect amount of sarcasm.